I got my first pair of glasses back in Grade 7. They were gold framed, bassett hound rims that made the world sharp and warped all at the same time. It seemed that as my world became increasingly fuzzy, the magical child in me began to fade away. Reality replaced fantasy and the world began to take shape around me.
As I walked to school that day the clarity was surreal. The ground bubbled and bulged beneath me as the lenses corrected my world view. I walked, leaning to the left, fearful of falling into the valleys of these new visions. I was hesitant to make it to school. Fearful of the bullying and ridicule that would face me. As I entered the class, the coolest kid in Grade 7, approached me. Here was the moment of judgement. Would he approve?
"Nice glasses," he said smiling.
"Thanks," I replied.
It was the first time I had experienced the all consuming touch of approval from my peers. At least I thought it was approval. No one teased me after that. Was I was accepted by them? The clarity of that moment remains with me. Not because I could see clearly, but because I could now see everything. All the things that were hidden from my view. Was that smile real or mocking? How could I tell?
From that moment on, my life behind glasses began. So did my depression. There were too many questions about my new world view. I felt overwhelmed and depressed and longed for the soft blurriness of my short past. The glasses became my own personal isolation booth. Even though they only covered my eyes, I felt as if they encased all of me. From behind the imagined walls, I watched people laugh, cry, cheer and groan. Unable to reach out to them. Unwilling to let them reach inside to me. So I learned to imitate their actions to cover up my inability to express my own.
At home, we lived in a "rose-coloured" house. My family life was textbook and classically dysfunctional. Dad was a high-functioning alcoholic and mom was his faithful martyr. Dad was the family bread winner. Mom worked for the little extras. Dad suffered long bouts of depression as my Edith-possessed mother ran thought the house keeping her world in spic and span order. My folks are the true definition of two halves making a whole. Dad needed mom to do all the feeling work in the family and mom needed Dad to take care of her. Their relationship worked for them. I don't claim to understand why things turned out the way they did for them. All I know is they played the game of life together.
My brother began his emotional withdrawal from antics of the family and asserted his independence early on. I became emeshed in the lives of our parents. The more he became his own person, the more alone I felt. He was my confidante in those days, drying my tears when kids made fun of my increasing bust size or helping me adjust to the new challenges of preteen puberty. We knew that our family had their secrets and we adjusted to our roles and played our parts. He was the Star and I was the Mascot. He burst onto the world, while I stayed home to try to boost the spirits of my mom and dad when the drinking got to much, when dad sunk into depression or when mom needed someone to talk to.
Over time I learned that the clearer I saw my family, the crazier I thought I was. From the age of eight onward, I decided that I must be the center for all things and that everything around me had to be caused by me.
I read a once a book where the author claimed that people with who were near-sighted had fear of seeing into the future. I think in someways that was true for me. The future I saw, seemed filled with worries and concerns. Dangerous and anxious.
To be continued....
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